


Close Your Loud Mouth

by Gayyams



Category: Loud Mouths
Genre: Other, Please Kill Me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayyams/pseuds/Gayyams
Summary: After The Snap, the loud boys exist.





	1. r/whoisevenleft | 20

The room was mostly silent as three grown men sat, alone in their thoughts. The one laying splayed out on a couch was Kwite, someone with a stupid online personality thing that his other friends never understood. He left his face to air and held something in a clutched fist. The one bent over the bar in the livingroom was Diesel, an off-brand Mexican who was doing his best not to duck under the counter and grab a bottle of something hard. The last one, sitting in a rather plush chair with his head in his hands, was WildSpartanz, or Brandon, who blankly stared at the floor as if he was trying to burn a hole in the carpet. 

The room itself was nice. A comfortable apartment recently vacated, the price was practically a steal. The walls were eggshell white, the ceiling was popcorned, and the floor was gray marble. A bar of darker gray marble, where Diesel rested his head, was situated in the far right corner from the door, the kitchen attached to it creating a space for food activities. To the left was a gray couch, where a hoodie laid. To the right of the front door was a nice seating arrangement, where a fat dude struggled to fight off tears. 

LA was quieter than it was before. It used to be a quite lively place, 3.976 million people would do that, but now only 1.988 remained, and most were in mourning. At random, it seemed, people dissipated. Friends, loved ones, strangers. Anyone that existed, suddenly didn't. Half the population of the entire world went down the goddamn drain. They left nothing behind, nothing to bury, nothing to mourn. 

"Do you guys think, that. Is. Is it like, that they're just gone or like. Is there a specific, place that people went from The Snap?" Kwite piped up with. He brought his clenched fist up to his face and set his forehead against the item inside. The room went silent again after he spoke, but soon enough, Brandon replied. 

"Ani's somewhere good." Is all he could honestly muster. Brandon leaned back in the plush seat, letting himself just. Exist. And die inside. Tyler was quiet, but he did glance at Diesel, who simply raised a hand and waved it around in dismissal. Tyler set his head back. 

"I'm going outside." Brandon said, standing up in a lumbering fashion. He set a tearstained hand on the chair to easily push himself along, as if he really.needed the support. Kwite wished him good luck, but for what reason, even he didn't know. 

 

Brandon stood on the balcony, bent over much like Diesel was, his arms folded on the railing. He watched as trash blew through the streets of LA, papers and plastic bags being pushed along by a force no one could really see as mystical anymore. When people suddenly disappear, and when more die each day because of the missing, everything loses its shimmer. Brandon knew this personally, and it reminded him of how very fucking alone he was now. 

He stepped back with a grunt of distaste, sitting on the lonely wood and leaning against the something-stained wall. Nothing was pure or innocent now. He could distantly remember a time where the three of them would joke about Jake and Logan Paul being arrested for being mutants, Alinity trying to doxx Captain America, and This Is The Avengers memes. None of it really mattered anymore, he knew, and none of it would ever come back. Pyro, Ani, none of them were fucking here anymore. Why did it leave the three of them? Why did the mystical goddamn power of a purple fucking reject teletubby carry off Ani like a bitch?

Brandon tapped the back of his head against the concrete wall. America crumbled around him, hell, the entire world collapsed into a fine dust of people he used to know. He heard that Jake Paul and Mr Paul were Snapped, but Logan remained. He'd never really thought he would ever fucking sympathise with Logan Paul, but as Brandon remembered the episode of Loud Mouths with Quackity, he realized he did. 

Tapping turned into a light slam and the onset of gross crying. Quackity, Ani, Pyro, fucking everyone he knew. His parents, his family, his old friends. All he had left was Tyler and Diesel. Isn't that terribly ironic? Just the Loud Mouths. Just three dudes who can't live with death. Isn't that fucking ironic? Brandon gripped his elbows with each of his hands as he let out a loud cry. Pain mixed in with anger and he felt nothing but it. A terrible cocktail of misery and mistakes. Heroes failed him--failed all of them. Tyler, Diesel, they had shit to live for. Brandon utterly forgot what he was meant to do with his life. He screamed why and no response came. Something told him that it never even mattered. 

New York lay in ruins, and WildSpartanz lay in a river of tears that refused to ebb as it flowed.


	2. Featuring Quackity | 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kwite admits that sometimes he isn't aloof.

Kwite kinda wished he could answer Brandon's question. The carnal sound that had filled the air and practically rattled Tyler's bones had hit deeper than he really wanted it to. Being aloof was a blessing when everything was crumbling around you, and Kwite wanted to be aloof enough for Brandon's strangled sobs to not affect him. But, Kwite was Brandons friend, Kwite was Ani's friend, Quackity's, Pyro's. He knew what Brandon was feeling. People dying was terrible. Kwite just wanted there to be no more bodies. 

"I'm gonna check on him." Tyler said to Diesel, who turned and wiped something from his eye. Diesel said good luck, before turning right back to the poorly hidden bottle in his hand that gently clinked against the marble countertop in time with each flinch of his own quietly sobbing being. Tyler reached out a hand to comfort Diesel, but the look in his eye was enough to make Kwite's hand hover in mid-air like a rejected prom date. He looked down, mouthing "Yeah. Right." before heading onto the balcony. 

Brandon was a mess, Tyler noted. A pile of man slumped like a pile of trash in the corner of the balcony, which Kwite could understand. Kwite bit his lip and squatted down in front of Brandon, patting his shoulder. "Hey man. This is a shitty spot to be. Could get shot. Come inside." Kwite attempted at pleading, but Brandon was resistant. He shook his head and let out a series of indecipherable mumblings that Kwite assumed were maybe words. This wasn't a good sign, really, expecially since the suicide rate was... Through the roof. Much more than half the population was gone, most from The Snap, the rest from the cruel clutches of depression. Kwite paused and stared through Brandon, his eyes crossing and fogging up. No, no. No. He can prevent this one. Something can always be done. 

Kwite sat in front of Brandon, that hand staying on the others shoulder. "Look, dude. I can't, like, explain how it'll be better because it probably won't get better. At least it won't if you just keep sitting here and wallowing in sadness. I fucking get it, okay, everyones dead. We're lucky as fuck to be alive. Its just us. Don't make it just me and Diesel, he'll drink himself to death anyway. Don't make it just me. I knw I tease you and I know shits going downhill but Brandon, dude, fucking..." Kwite struggled with what to say next. He mouthed nonsense words, trying to find the magic word to fix Brandon and ease his pain. He soon realized that no such word existed. Pain was pain and Brandon is lost in it. 

Kwite leaned back and took a deep breath of air. He had said the same thing before. Weird, you'd think, but some things are more common after The Snap. Things Kwite assumed he has a being would never have to deal with. At least not twice. The discord call Tyler had tried his best to remove from memory pushed back into his head and the stupid duck pin poking harshly into the skin of his hand was more noticeable than before. Quackity had been alone. His first instinct had been to call Kwite, of all people, who wasn't close enough to save him. Freefalling and sorrowing were the last things Tyler had heard from Quackity. The sound was fresh in his mind even though it happened months ago. Being so powerless when you were the last line of defense. 

The memory struck Tyler like a stray bullet and he bent like Atlas under the world.


	3. Is It Gay To Be Alone? | 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diesel experiences the mind-numbing process of alcohol poisoning.

Diesel knew he was falling into a pit. It was kind of obvious with how sunken he felt. As if he were drowning in a pool of liquor and tears. Sure, he was a strong dude. He knew what he wanted, he knew how he'd get it. He'd seen and experienced a multitude of things and yet nothing like this. He'd watch as New York was beaten down by hero after hero as if it was a regular thing. Fleeing with his family, always coming back. There isn't anywhere he can really flee anymore, is there? You can't run from time or space or whatever the fuck else kind of bling Thanos showed off. He couldn't very well run from everything. That isn't how it worked. 

For a sober man, seeing that drowning your sorrows in silky smooth potato alcohol would be fucking stupid. And yes, he had thought so too before he took a single sip. But now he's three bottles deep and the sound of Brandon breaking down and Kwite's dead silence don't bother him as much as before. All he can really focus on is the bottle in his hand, the numbness in his head, and the slow march of death coming his way. Thanos was smart, Diesel would think, taking half the population and leaving the other half to collapse without supports. 

The sloshing of vodka mixed with the crunching of bones as something flew off of something else. Something vaguely registered then for Diesel, that Kwite was dead, but nothing in him was aware enough to take action. Brandon's sobs came anew, louder, more pathetic. Diesel wished he could be more sympathetic but the burn of Russia"s finest on the back of his throat was just enough to keep him alive. He was emotionally drained already, just from the rapidfire death count. He couldn't help anyone anymore. 

Diesel sat up, the bottle of vodka in his hand slamming against the countertop. His vision fuzzed at the sides like an old TV losing signal and he wondered if he had reached the edge of what a human body could take. It was a curious thought, and it was one that Diesel wondered if he could examine this before his face slammed against the smoothness of the countertop. But his face had already slammed when this last thought crossed his mind. Even though his eyes were still wide open, his vision was black and he failed to see his own demise.


End file.
